SLIP
by SAKI1
Summary: Whitney must prevent Lex Luthor from murdering Clark Kent and Lana Lang
1. Default Chapter

SLIP  
  
In its basic definition, "Freedom" means the right to choose one's own way to die. The servants of the dictators left that choice to their masters and fought and died for causes that even they themselves often found odious. The men and women of the free nations who fought World War II chose their own doom. If they could not destroy every evil, they destroyed the most vicious of their day. If it is part of the sadness of the human condition that they could not solve the problems of their children's generation, it is part of the glory of it that they so resolutely faced their own.  
  
--James L. Stokesbury A SHORT HISTORY OF WORLD WAR II.  
  
**************************************************************************  
  
I  
  
slip  
  
back  
  
into Smallville Police station. I must be aware of the now and adapt to it. Now is Sheriff Ethan and an interrogation room . It is 2003 and I have just been arrested for murder. I was found covered in the victims blood, standing over them with a knife in my hand. I have motive, I have opportunity. I will be convicted beyond a reasonable doubt.  
  
"Listen," Ethan says, "I have sympathy for you, a jury will have sympathy for you but not if you keep lying, Whitney."  
  
"I'm not lying." I say. "Lex Luthor murdered Clark Kent and Lana Lang and framed me. I know now how he did it and I know why he did it."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Ethan says.  
  
"I'll tell you," I say, "But you won't believe me." I sit and wonder how I should begin.  
  
**************************************************************************  
  
I am in Basic training. I have been wearing Lana's damn necklace all throughout zero Week, the week of Basic Training devoted to processing and vaccinations. I did not know that the stone was made of kryptonite. I didn't even know what kryptonite was at the time. We were all calling it meteor rock then. I didn't know that the stone was altering me, changing me.  
  
No, that's not true.  
  
I was changing me. The stone was doing what it does. What it always does. Tuning into my desires and making the impossible possible. But they were MY desires. Kryptonite is a tool. Like fire, like atomic energy. Nothing more then a tool. The most powerful tool ever conceived of, but a tool nonetheless. It can be lethal or beneficent depending upon who wields it.  
  
I don't know why the stone has the particular effect it has on me. If this were a comic book I would be able to give you a nice cozy corny "origin story". I would be able to explain, in some hackneyed way, how the combination of inoculates, with the kryptonite, somehow enabled me to slip. Perhaps I could tell you the story of how during a rifle drill, the necklace cut my skin and that is what did it. Believe me I've thought back and back and back on it. Trying to figure out the how and the why. The truth is, I don't know what makes me slip.  
  
I am on the bus heading from the barracks where Zero week is held to the barracks where Basic Training is.  
  
I am lulled by zero week.  
  
The sergeants in charge of processing us are cozy teddy bears, with no harsh words or even mean looks. We are told how to line up in formation, how to march etc. in a respectful courteous way  
  
We are also given equipment and clothes. LOTS of equipment and clothes. In my duffle bag, I have my sleeping bag, my entrenching tool, a pair of boots. 6 pair of Battle Dress Uniform pants, six pair of BDU shirts, four pair of BDU pants, six pair of BDU socks, 6 pair of dress socks, my dress uniform, shirt and tie and dress shoes. In my back pack, I have two canteens, my tent cover, my tent, my tent pegs, and my sleeping mat. I also have my personal bag which, like a fucking idiot, I have placed on top of my duffel bag.  
  
The bus stops at what is to be our home for the next 12 weeks. Before the bus even comes to a full stop I hear yelling from outside "OH MY GOD, I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH AN UGLY BUNCH OF PRIVATES IN MY LIFE" The bus starts shaking, I see that the drill sergeants are shaking it. The door opens, and I hear what will be the first words a drill sergeant will ever say to me.  
  
It will not be the only time I will hear them though.  
  
"YOU HAVE FIFTEEN SECONDS TO GET OFF THIS BUS AND TEN OF THEM ARE GONE!" I hear the voice bellow. I am in the back of the bus and I see privates trying to carry their belongings and dropping them, the Sergeants violating their space getting two inches from their noses and screaming at them to drop for committing the crime of letting some piece of baggage hit the ground. The privates looking at them dumbly not knowing what the fuck "drop" means. The sergeants finally clarifying and telling them to give them 20 push ups. The privates clumsily dropping their belongings to give them the requisite push ups, doing the push ups quickly, dropping something else while clamoring to pick up their belongings again and then having to do twenty more. I am watching this while holding my duffle bag and trying to shuffle myself off the bus as quickly as I can looking at the bag balancing on top of my duffle bag and praying for a miracle. Praying that somehow the laws of physics will be violated and that the bag will somehow remain pristinely on top of the duffle bag, all through the bus shaking and the running and the scrambling. The bag does its best to accommodate my wishes, but it does finally fall, the moment I get off the bus. A Sergeant is in my face immediately. "DROP YOU MAGGOT! DROP! DROP! DROP!"  
  
"I'M SORRY, SIR" I cry, dropping my stuff and doing the required number of push ups.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!?!" He says bending over to get in my face.  
  
Did he read my mind, or did I call him an asshole out loud? "NOTHING SIR!" I cry.  
  
"You see this Private," the Sergeant says grabbing his lapel and finally approaching something resembling a normal tone of voice. "These stripes mean I WORK for a living. I'm a sergeant, not a God damned officer. You address officers as sir, you address me as SERGEANT."  
  
"Yes sir SERGEANT!" I cried.  
  
I do my twenty push ups go to pick up my bags, drop my bags again and am made to do twenty push ups more. It is upon getting to the ground to do the second set of twenty that it happens. I call it slipping because that's what it feels like. It's a fall in a parking lot on a winter's day. One second you're on your feet and the next you're on the ground and it happens so fast your heart barely has a chance to skip.  
  
I go down to do my push ups and my hands never touch the ground as I fall forward. I feel the momentary fall, the panic, the exhilaration, as I  
  
slip  
  
back  
  
onto the bus. I feel the weight of the duffle bag on my lap. I look up and see the offensive personal bag resting on top of my duffle bag. I grab at it quickly as if it were a bundle of cash mistakenly left on the counter by a merchant for anyone to grab and put the strap quickly around my neck. The bus comes to a stop. Shaking, disbelief expressed as to our horrible looks. The door opening and for the second time " YOU HAVE FIFTEEN SECONDS TO GET OFF THIS BUS AND TEN OF THEM ARE GONE!" Only this time I have all my bags secured.  
  
I get off the bus, "YOU BETTER MOVE LIKE YOU HAVE A PURPOSE IN LIFE, MAGGOT!"  
  
"Yes, Sergeant," I yell and run into the building.  
  
I was The Man in basic training. I was The Man in Special Forces training and when the time comes and I am sent to Indochina to take care of some dirtball war lord that is starving his people, I am The Man there too.  
  
I save my squad, I earn a Congressional Medal of honor, the first bestowed on anyone since the Vietnam War and I owe it all to Kryptonite. I did nothing. Kryptonite did it. Kryptonite made it never was.  
  
My squad is separated from the rest of our company. We are somewhere in the Aceh Province of Indonesia. It is wet and miserable and hot. What else is new.  
  
After days of miserable marching, Brooks tries to lighten the mood. "Man, when I get home, I'm just going to lie in bed and sleep for five days straight."  
  
Stafford adds, "I'm gonna be lying in bed too, but I ain't going to be sleeping."  
  
Taylor is complaining. Again, what else is new. "This is pointless, Fordman." He says, "They think we're dead. " Taylor: Mr. Happy Fun Guy. For six days I've heard him moan and I so wish for the days of Basic training and Special Ops training where I could simply tell a guy to shut the fuck up and be done with it. But now I must be an example, I can't afford to lose my temper or be anything less then positive. Even though I'm only a corporal, I'm still the ranking member of the squad.  
  
"We're gonna make it back home, you hear me?" I say, as positively as I can. " I'm gonna get back and see...  
  
Taylor interrupts me "Lana. I know. If I have to hear about Lana or Smallville or horseback riding in the freaking meadow one more time--" He never finishes the sentence.  
  
A mortar comes screaming down. Mortars are savage brutal things. When real soldiers see Rambo dodging them we always have to suppress a laugh in the movie theaters. They do not need to hit you to kill you. In fact they don't have to land anywhere near you. The mortars fired at us are designed to kill people. This is what they do: upon landing on the ground mortars bounce up and blow metal fragments in every direction. If you're within fifty yards, those metal fragments will go through you. You're told this, in basic training, in the same morbidly fascinated way they always talk about weapons in basic. I remember my instructor saying with a touch of glee how when the shrapnel hits you it would "Ruin your whole day." I remember all the Privates chuckling at this. One of the first things you learn in Basic is to chuckle at instructors asinine comments.  
  
Of course the instructor never saw it, or he wouldn't of used a phrase like that. I'm ashamed that I laughed with the rest of them now. The mortar comes down and I see it tear Stafford, a vibrant eighteen year old man, to shreds. He doesn't have time to scream as the mortar hit and the metal flew forth, flying through him, not being slowed by the soft bits of flesh that used to be his organs and bones.  
  
Taylor was still with me. "Move it! Move it!" I cry as we start to run along the edge of a lake, another blast hits and annihilates Brooks. Me and Taylor start to cross the lake. "Keep moving.," I shout and I hear machine gun fire. Lovely.  
  
"We're not going to make it," Taylor says, for once echoing my thoughts.  
  
I'm still in leader mode: "I got one flare left. We just gotta make it to that ridge. The scouts will see us from there." Yes, yes, that's all we have to do. But that ridge might as well be 500 miles away rather then the 500 feet it actually is.  
  
Another mortar, a piece of shrapnel tears into my jacket just above my shoulder, miraculously missing my skin, I feel another piece of shrapnel fly past my ear. I turn back to see Taylor and I see that he's injured. For one moment, God help me, I consider not going to get him. Leaving him there and running for the ridge then I think better of it and I go back into the lake for him.  
  
I ask the idiot question, "Are you all right?"  
  
"Oh my God" He cries, grabbing his gut where a piece of shrapnel hit him. Gut injury, if the mortars or the machine guns don't kill him first, he can look forward to a long, agonizing death.  
  
I lie: "You're OK, you're ok, " I say and help him to his feet. I start to drag him through the water. "Come on, get up," I say. Put your arm around me. Come on, keep moving. You're okay, buddy. "  
  
"No," he yells, "No, I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!" I notice the blood bleeding from his mouth, the goddamned shrapnel must of ricocheted off bone and nicked his lung. Can't think about that, have to get to the ridge.  
  
"No one's gonna die! I promise!" I say and make it to land and for a fleeting glorious moment I feel safe, and then a mortar hits not more then a 100 feet from us and I feel the shrapnel ripping through my neck, my chest, my stomach, my left leg and arm. I start to fall to the ground, dying for no good reason, and glance over at Taylor who is now grisly road kill as I  
  
slip  
  
back  
  
to  
  
the field. Brooks is starting to speak, "Man, when--"  
  
I dive into the grass, "Everybody down," I hiss and I see the others quickly follow suit. I have time, hopefully the forward observer hasn't spotted us, or if he has he hasn't had the time to radio in our coordinates, I have time, I have time, but not much. What our are options? We can try and crawl our way out of here, try and find another route. But if the guy spots us or if he already spotted us we're dead. We can start running now, see if we can clear the ridge before we gets a lock on us. No, the river will slow us down too much. No, we must attack.  
  
I scan the area quickly, spot a nearby hill. They must be over there. Usually a fire support team consists of three to four men, they have the advantage of higher ground, but in the weeds, with our camouflage it will be hard for them to put that advantage to good use. The machine gun they fired at us sounded like an AK-47, it has half the range of our M60. We have a chance. A small chance, if I can just keep the bastards from radioing our coordinates to the mortars. Brooks and Stafford already have the M-60 set up, they're well trained, but have no idea why they dived down or where they should direct their fire.  
  
"What are you doing Fordman?" Taylor asks.  
  
"Shhh!" I say, "There's a fire support team on that hill over there, we're about 30 seconds from having mortars raining down on us.  
  
"How'd you know--" I cut Taylor off. "Brooks, Stafford, Lay down fire on that hill," I say and they start firing immediately. Without knowing their location, I'm wasting ammo, but I have to keep the forward observer from calling in our location. Hopefully the M60 fire will scare him enough to keep him off the radio. I take my rifle out and look in the scope, "where the hell are you bastards?" I think  
  
Breath, Fordman, breath, the guy's gotta have an antennae concentrate on finding the guy with the radio. Take him out and then it's an Ak-47 against an M60 and three M16s. I see a flash from the Ak-47 I look through the scope and I see two of the bastards. I was right about it being an Ak-47 wrong about there only being one of them. Still we have range and, without the mortars, a firepower advantage. I allow myself to breathe out hold my breath for half a second and fire. I see his jaw and face seared away. I aim for the other one but he's behind cover now. I look for an antennae, he's not the one. Great, I got one of them but we're still dead if I don't get the radio man. "Stafford, direct your fire at three o clock" I say, "we've got to draw the radio man out." I start to look through the scope.  
  
A mortar fires far to our right. I take satisfaction in having scared the guy. His coordinates were deadly accurate before, now they're off by a click. I intend to keep him scared.  
  
"Taylor," I say, "We have to get the radio man before he calls in our location right, do you have your gas grenades?"  
  
Taylor nods, "Fire them at three o' clock" I say and Taylor does so immediately. I'm in charge, I'm a leader, oh dad, I wish I could tell you. I hear the familiar pop as the M203 launches one of its cylindrical grenades. The gas grenade goes out. If nothing else, it's hard to call in coordinates when breathing in CS gas. Another mortar goes off, this time closer. I have 30 seconds, tops before he has a read on us. The gas hit's the hill. I see what looks to be a long twig moving. It's the antennae, I trace the twig down and see a man attached to it, he's trying to talk He's breathing in the CS gas, there are tears in his eyes and mucus is falling from his nose. "I'll put you out of your misery, fucker," I think as I allow myself to exhale hold my breath and carefully squeeze off a round and almost immediately have the satisfaction of seeing the top half of his head fly off. The head is gone but the radio is still intact. There's one guy left, he's gotta be scared now, the odds are in our favor. Decision time, do I make for the ridge or do I try and stop the guy remaining? If the guy has the presence of mind to get to the radio and if he has the ability to call in the coordinates, we're dead again.  
  
"Guys, get ready to charge that hill, there's one fucker left there and he's too entrenched for us to get with our fire and we can't let him get to that radio.  
  
"I'm not going to charge up that hill" Taylor says.  
  
"Then stay here and let the bastard call in your coordinates." I say and pick up my rifle and run for the ridge. I'm still firing laying down suppression fire as I run. The guy sees what we're doing and rather then firing at us makes a run for it. Stafford and Brooks are still firing. I don't care about him anymore, I'm overwhelmed with joy. We made it, we're going to live. He didn't run for the radio, he ran away, he's not going to be calling in our coordinates. One of the men hit's the poor bastard in the arm. He falls. I get to the top of the hill, and grab for the radio, almost as if I thought that the radio could somehow call in our coordinates without a man attached to it.  
  
I pick up the radio and hit it on a rock. I smash the radio, and smash it and smash it and step on the pieces in my mania. My eyes are teary and mucus is beginning to run from my nose from the remaining CS gas but I don't care. We're going to live, we're going to live. Stafford and Brooks are standing over the last man about to do to him what I was doing to the radio. Brooks rifle buts the guy and Stafford is about to join in. "Stop, stop," I say, "We're about a quarter of a click from safety, let's tie up the bastard and get the hell out of here," I say.  
  
"Yes sir," One of them says and I come close to saying that I work for a living, but decide that we're too far from safety to start joking.  
  
Two minutes, two fucking minutes. That's the difference. I knew that they were there two minutes earlier and we all lived and two of them died. Two minutes is the difference between all of us living unharmed and all of us dying. Two minutes between our victory or their defeat. War. God. 


	2. CHAPTER 2

Spoilers: Not really.

Disclaimer: You know what? They ARE mine? Don't like it WB? Tough! You want a piece of me? Come and get it, punks.

Rated R. For profanity, pretty hard core violence and a mention of nudity.

Dedications: Oh, Ktbaxter, Miss windy and the rest of the TWOP crowd. I'll have to add Elrond50 and the rest of the the folks in miss Windy's chat room on the eric Johnson web site for making me wonder how I could bring Whitney back to life convincingly (by Smallville standards anyway).

Slip

Chapter 2

I can't remember a feeling of joy greater then when I first saw that American outfit and knew, really knew, that we were safe. I am treated as a hero. I receive a medal, and another medal and was completely floored when I was awarded the medal of honor. Douglas McCarthur, Audi Murphy and Whitney Fordman. I was ashamed to be in their company. I didn't deserve it, I was a fraud, a fake. But the Marines don't allow you to say no, and I certainly am not going to tell them about another mutation. I barely got in as it was.

So they give me their awards and I finally am allowed to go back to Smallville. I get off the bus and see a crowd of several hundred people there. The Smallville high banner people worked overtime with signs that said "Welcome home Whitney" and "Our hero returns" . My mother is in front of the crowd and I jump off the bus and gave her a hug. Lana is there too and of course Clark Kent is right next to her.

I get through hugging my mother and Lana throws herself into my arms. "I missed you so much," I say near tears.

"I'm so glad to see you," she says and we kiss for a while. Finally she stands back and says with a somewhat teary smile "We have a party planned for you at the Talon.

I smile, the lump in my throat almost painful. "Yes, that's great." I say. 

Finally Clark Kent comes forward. "I did what you said," he says and extends his hand.

"I never doubted you, Clark." I say and shake his hand.

I arrive at the Talon. More banners. Lex catered the whole affair in the normal ostentatious Luthor manner. I'm at home, but I don't feel at home. I'm still in the marines. Everyone wants to know about the medal, the attack, being lost and being found. I don't want to say, but I tell them anyway.

Lex Luthor begins to talk to me. "I read the account of your actions, Whitney," Lex says, "I must say, I'm impressed." But his voice, his manner, are accusatory, downgrading.

"Thanks Lex," I say with a false smile.

"They say that you called for your men to fire on a hill without even knowing that there was a fire support team there."

"I spotted someone out of the corner of my eye."

"The men who filed the report say that you ordered them to fire just on the hill, you didn't even give them any general area, if you spotted someone why didn't you tell them where you spotted it?"

"I guess I just had an instinct," I say.

"That's some instinct," Lex says, "You must of passed hundreds of hills like that and not once did you ask them to fire. You happen to do it at the one hill with a fire support team. I'd say you're psychic."

"Just lucky, I guess." again smiling. Lex is also smiling but his eyes convey everything. Liar. Tell the truth, liar. What really happened?

Clark walks up and I've never been so happy to see another man. "Hey Lex, what's with the third degree?" Clark says smiling.

Lex looks at Clark and his gaze immediately softens and his smile becomes genuine. "Just curious," Lex says.

"It's supposed to be a party for him," Clark says.

"Yes, of course," Lex says.

I start to mingle, talking to many people in the crowd. The gaze of Lex lingering in my head the entire time. Liar. Fake. Tell the truth, liar. 

Finally Lex gets up to give his speech. To welcome home the conquering hero. I get ready to brace myself from cringing. I've heard this speech time and again. Praising my heroism, my valor, saying that I am all things good in the world. I have learned to hear these lies and smile.

"I'd like everyone join me in welcoming our resident hero, Whitney Fordman," he begins in much the same way all the speeches begin. He looks casual, his hands in his pockets of his black jacket. "While I commend Whitney in so diligently defending us against our enemy in Indochina I'd like to alert everyone to an even greater danger. A danger living among us. A danger that has been actively poisoning our water, our livestock and out food. An enemy that possesses the strength of 1000 of us. An enemy that has been posing as a friend to us, as a normal kid. He is not, he is in fact an alien from another planet sent here to conquer and I can prove it." 

He turns and faces Clark Kent who is looking ashen and I hear gunfire and I almost dive for cover. There is a hole in Lex's jacket and I glance over and there's a hole in Clark's shirt, but Clark is unharmed. Lex fires again, again, and again in rapid succession and Clark merely grimaces. "Lex," Clark says, the look in his eyes expressing hurt beyond pain. I could see the years and years of hiding of keeping the secret and then having it exposed by his best friend. His eyes are not the eyes of a conqueror but of a wounded kid. 

I glance over to Lex who still has a bemused smile on his face as he pulls out another gun. This is metal and looks almost like a high tech squirt gun. He points it at Clark and a stream of green liquid emerges and Clark falls to the floor in obvious agony

Pete Ross steps forward "Lex!" He says and starts to tackle him but Lex shoots Pete in the head with the first gun and I see bits of brain matter fly out behind him as Pete's body falls to the floor. "Damn, I always wanted to apologize for my Dad swindling your Uncle out of the creamed corn factory, I guess I'll never get the chance now."

Lex still has a bemused expression as the crowd finally starts to break and scream and run to the exits. "People!" Lex shouts, somehow above the crowd, "The only one in here I want to kill is the alien bastard, the rest of you have nothing to worry about. Just leave calmly and no one else will get hurt."

I should take his advice but instead I stand transfixed. I have no weapon I can't help. Lex moves rapidly to Clark. He pulls Clark up from his fetal position on the floor the look on Clark's face of pure pain, Lex's, pure hate. He gets really close to Clark and whispers, "You know I was going to make a bullet out of the green stuff but that would not be nearly satisfying enough. MOTHER FUCKER!" He screams and knees him. I start to run forward and Lex points the gun at me. "I LIKED Pete," he says, "Do you think I'd hesitate?" That stops me.

He gets within an inch of Clark's battered face. "I didn't think you should die without knowing that pain," he says. "Five years from now I'd never be able to get this close, but now, now you're as easy to kill as any punk teenager. "GODDAMNED FREAK!!" he cries and butts him in the face with his pistol. "No one thought I could do it. They all thought I was just flesh and blood and bone like all the rest. How could I defeat a god? BASTARD" He cries and butts him again. "ALIEN, FREAK!" Again and again the obscenities come pouring out of his mouth and soon Clark's face, once beautiful, is a mottled lump of flesh. Lex is smiling unable to contain his joy. Clark is somehow still alive, writhing on the floor. Lex can't contain himself. "Well, who's on top now mother fucker?" He says and lowers his face to Clark's neck. He soon chews through Clark's carotid artery and blood flies forth everywhere. "Aaah!" He says, his face covered in red blood still flying from Clark's neck. "That's way more satisfying then a Snickers bar." He starts to laugh and I run for him he fires and hits me in the shoulder. I fall down and 

slip 

back

and hear Lex say "I'd like everyone to join-" I take a quarter of a second to check my shoulder, it's fine, I'm fine, and I attack. "You sick bastard," I cry and the crowd gasps. I punch Lex in the face. He goes sprawling to the floor. Clark is there almost immediately suppressing me with an impossibly strong grip.

"What the hell?" Lex says grabbing his chin.

"He wants to kill you, Clark." I say and the crowd looks at me like I'd grown a second head. "He's got a gun." Clark squints, and looks at him. "No he doesn't Whitney." Clark says. "Yes he does! Search him!"

"Go ahead, search me," Lex says calmly. They do, and find nothing. "It must be post traumatic stress disorder," Lex says "I can fly in some doctors from --"

"Fuck you and your doctors from Metropolis," I spit out. The crowd is still looking at me. 

"Whitney needs some rest," Lana says, still trying to salvage what is left of her goddamned party. Did I love this girl once?

"I don't need rest, this man is a sick bastard."

"Why don't you go home, Whitney, I'll be fine." Clark says gently, expressing more concern for me in that one moment then Lana ever has..

"I know what I know Clark. I know about you. You've GOT to believe me. He hates you more then I've ever seen anyone hate. He wants to kill you." Clark's grip, somehow tightens when I say I know about him and I wince in pain.

"I believe that you believe it, Whit. I'll be careful, but you have to go home and get some sleep now, OK?"

I'm in a fishbowl and the crowd is looking in, eyes in wonder at the crazy man. I think for a moment. Clark is safe. Lex has no guns and I can't talk to Clark now. "Please, Clark, please," I say ," Please be careful."

"I will Whitney, I promise." 

"OK, OK I'll go," I say. And with that the crowd noticeably exhales.

Me and my mother walk out the door. The crowd staring an arrow through the center of my back. Me and my mother drive home, she can't help but glance over to me as she drives.

I get home and throw my coat on the chair. "I'm not crazy, Mom. I swear," I say.

"I could never think you're crazy." she says. "I think you need some rest." 

"I don't need rest," I lie. The adrenaline is wearing off and I'm starting to become more tired then I have ever been in my life.

"Well, why don't you try lying down," she says. "I'm sure you'll feel better tomorrow." she says and I can see such worry that I have no choice but to concede.

"Yes, momma," I say and kiss her on the forehead. "I don't want to worry you."

"It's ok, Whitney," she says and bursts into tears. "Shh," I whisper, "I'm sorry I'm sorry" and she buries her face in my chest as I hug her. "I don't want to worry you, Mom, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

We hold each other for a moment and then reluctantly I go to bed. I think that the adrenaline will keep me up all of the night, but it doesn't. I pass out almost as soon as I hit the bed. 

I wake up the next morning. I have to see Lana, I have to explain. I quickly get dressed shower and head to the Talon. It's Sunday, she opens a little later but she should be there getting ready. I drive slowly, trying to think of what I am going to say. But how do you tell someone that you slip back and forth in time?

I knock on the door, there's no answer. I turn the handle, it's open. Terror runs through me. She'd never leave for the night and not lock up. I open the door and walk in. "Oh God." I say and look at the Talon. It's as if someone had thrown buckets of blood indiscriminately throughout the place. Lana is lying on the floor, naked. Her throat is cut.. Clark is next to her, also naked. Green liquid is intermixed with the blood surrounding him. He has been beaten and stabbed to death with a savagery beyond comprehension. There's a knife on the floor next to Lana. I walk forward without thinking to grab Lana. "Lana, jeez, Lana," I say hugging her close.

Then I hear the door open. Quickly I grab for the knife and stand up, ready for an attack.

"Hey Lana," Ethan says, "you left your door un- HOLY SHIT!" He says and stumbles for his revolver. I'm standing over two dead bodies holding a knife. I see people do shit like this on TV and I think "How stupid can they be?" but when someone you love is there, dead, your brain takes a vacation. 

"Drop the knife, Whitney! Drop the knife, now!"

"It's not what you think," I say and sputter absurd sounding denials.

"What I think," Ethan says, "Is that you ought to drop the knife and get down on your knees, right now with your hands behind you head."

I think for a crazy second about running. Where? Ethan has the exit covered. The emergency exit is on the other side of the shop. I drop the knife and get on my knees with my hands behind my head. 

He puts a handcuff quickly around my right wrist. "You're under arrest for the murder of Clark Kent and Lana Lang," He says and I close my eyes. I am feeling light headed as I open my eyes, look at Clark and Lana again, and pass out.


	3. chapter 3

I wake up a few minutes later. I'm still handcuffed. I'm being walked outside to a squad car there's a crowd outside now. I look to the right and there's a Red Lamborghini. Jonathan and Martha Kent are standing outside the Talon, holding each other closely. Tears unhindered. I look up and see Lex's distinctive face. Tears are coming down in unremitting grief. He looks up at me and with a chilling hate. "You bastard!" he screams. "He was my only friend, he was the only friend I ever had! He was my only friend, my only friend. He was good, he was so good. God, you bastard," he says.  
  
I do not feel my legs move I barely see the crowd around me, I feel the condemning eyes burn through me. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.  
  
Mercifully I'm placed inside the squad car. I want to hide my face I want to fade away from the hateful eyes. I wish I could slip away anywhere but the adrenaline rush isn't in me so I stay. I get to the police station and there's a crowd there too. I barely feel connected to my body as I'm lead through the crowd of jeerers into the police station and the interrogation room.  
  
I try to speak, but the horrors of the past day have constricted my breath and closed my throat. I close my eyes breathe out and let in a long breath. I say, "Ethan, I didn't do this. Lex did it."  
  
"Lex?" Ethan says, "Did you just see him?"  
  
"He's acting," I said.  
  
"Best damn acting job I ever saw."  
  
"I know he killed them."  
  
"Whitney," Ethan says, as if he's talking to an especially slow child, "Everyone knows that Clark was Lex's best friend and Lana's business partner. What reason would he have to kill them?"  
  
"I don't know, why would I want to kill them?"  
  
"While you were passed out I found out about the scarecrow incident."  
  
"From Lex?"  
  
"From Lex and a few other sources."  
  
"That was last year, " I said, "Me and Clark have been getting along since then and Lana broke up with me while I was in basic training."  
  
"Whitney you strung Clark up in a field for letting Lana kiss him on the cheek."  
  
"That was last year!"  
  
"Yes and you come back from basic training after serving your country hoping to work things out with Lana, you go to the Talon early before the shop opens and you see Clark and Lana doing what two naked teenagers do. While you were serving your country that Bitch was getting it on with Clark and she couldn't even wait ONE DAMN DAY after you were gone to rub your face in it! You walk in, you see those two and you snap. I can understand, so will a jury. But if you keep sticking with this "Lex did it line."  
  
"It's NOT a line. Lex DID do it!"  
  
"I'm trying to help you, Whitney."  
  
"Oh, yeah, right."  
  
"Come on Whitney, Come on! Lex was Clark's best friend, he was Lana's business partner, he never dated Lana, he never strung Clark up in a field. You're the only person in this entire town that has ever expressed any hatred towards Clark Kent. You're the only one in this town with a motive--"  
  
"Lex, did it."  
  
"That makes Zero sense, Whitney,"  
  
"Do you think it makes sense to me!?" I don't know why he did it, I can't explain what's happening I don't know what's happening, I only know that Lex is somehow causing it. You've gotta believe me," I say trying to get up off the chair, " It's the truth, I know it's the truth, you gotta believe me," I say and slip  
  
forward  
  
to  
  
a bedroom. I'm getting dressed I'm looking in a mirror. My hair is thinning and it's more difficult for me to move. I barely recognize the face in the mirror and If it weren't for the other events of the past two days, I'd probably shout. I'm older, I don't know how much older, but it looks like I'm at least fifty  
  
"Believe what, dear?" I hear a familiar voice say. I turn and see Chloe, she's calling me dear, but I can tell that it's only from force of habit. If there ever was love there, it faded years ago.  
  
"Uh, nothing honey," I say, I'm holding a tie. I've only worn a tie twice in my life and both times my mother put it on for me. I attempt to do it twice and muddle it both times. My hands are shaking slightly making it more difficult.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Chloe says.  
  
"I don't know, I seem to be all thumbs today," I say and smile.  
  
"God, I used to love that smile," she says. "I don't see it anymore, not a real smile. I see you with a backslapping ass kissing smile. I see you with an in control smile. But a real smile is something I don't see anymore," she says and finishes tying my tie. "There, perfect," she says and smiles at me. It's almost genuine.  
  
I follow Chloe out the bedroom door. Two children come tumbling out. "Mommy! Daddy! Are you going to see Uncle Lex now?" they say in unison.  
  
"Yes," Chloe answers.  
  
"Will he give us presents?" the little girl asks.  
  
"Doesn't he always give you presents?" Chloe asks.  
  
"Yes," the little girl says.  
  
"So do you think he's going to give you presents this time?"  
  
"Yes." the little girl says, clutching closer at a blanket  
  
"Ok, so give your daddy and me a big hug, we have to get going, we can't be late."  
  
We walk out the door and we don't step more then three feet past the door when Chloe pulls me closer. I think she's going to kiss me on the cheek but instead she whispers harshly in my ear, "I can understand why you have to go to the mother fuckers dinner party, I can understand why you have to work for him, I can understand why you have to kiss his ass, but I can't understand why you let them call that mother fucker Uncle." For the first time I smell the bourbon on her breath and the unmistakable tottering walk of the drunk.  
  
"You're drunk," I say.  
  
"Of course I'm fucking drunk, how the hell do you expect me to sit in the company of him for the next two hours without being sloshed. I hate you for making me do this."  
  
"I'm sorry," I say.  
  
"Yeah, well, I've heard that shit before." she says.  
  
It's only then that I look around the home that I'm walking out of is actually a huge and opulent mansion. It's beauty mired only by the massive armed security and electric fences surrounding it. We walk up to the gates and two guards, armed with machine guns open the gate. Despite their arms I can tell that they are terrified of me.  
  
A limousine is in front and a driver comes around and he opens the door for me with the same look of terror in his eyes. We get in but not before I notice the cars in front of us and the cars behind us. I have a motorcade larger then any Presidents. Who the hell am I?  
  
We get in the car and I hear the familiar, but older voice of Rush Limbaugh blaring out through the radio. "We hear all these little liberals whining about civil liberties, about the concentration of all that wealth and power-"  
  
"Do we HAVE to listen to this? I HATE this guy ," I say.  
  
Chloe looks at me like I'd lost my mind. Yes, we DO have to listen to him Rush Limbaugh is the vice president of Lex Corp. in charge of information distribution . Him and Fox news are the only news station allowed. You appointed Rush yourself and you got rid of the other stations for being "too liberal." In fact YOU were the one who made it a crime not to listen to him. Are you feeling ok?"  
  
"Big government HAD it's chance," I hear the voice say over the radio, "Was big government able to end world hunger? No. Was big government able to stop drug abuse? No. Was big government able to stop all unemployment? No. But Lexcorp, in the five years since it's abolished world government has done all this."  
  
The words cascade off me, "Abolished world government," I see people walking down the streets as my motorcade goes by. I see them looking up and seeing my motorcade and beginning to run quickly, furtively glancing at me not wanting me to catch their eyes.  
  
"Liberals will have you believe that it's a bad thing to have ninety percent of the worlds wealth and power concentrated in the hands of one man," Rush says. "These are the same liberals that used to yammer on and on about the wealthiest 1%. Remember? Liberals JUST. DON'T. GET. IT. In this world there are people that win, and people that lose and Lex Luthor is a winner. He won because he's smarter and more capable then anyone else. But liberals, hate big business. They hate success. They hate people being smarter then they are. They can't believe anyone is smarter then they are. They hate winners. But most of all they hate Lex Luthor. They want to go back to the days where the liberal media-"  
  
Chloe whispers in my ear, "They abolished all other news media years ago and all entertainment shows have to meet his approval but he STILL can't stop crying about the liberal media."  
  
"Where the liberal media can tell us that homosexuality is ok. That school prayer is immoral. That abortion on demand is a right all women should possess. That drug addicts are victims, that personal responsibility is an unreasonable expectation."  
  
The car stops and the chauffeur comes around to let us out. We're in the front of a skyscraper that has to be at least 20 stories bigger then any currently in existence there is an army surrounding it. There's Commanche helicopters circling it and men with helmets and Kevlar vests and full riot gear.  
  
I get out of the limmo and try not to stare at my surroundings. Chloe is obviously used to this sight and walks up the steps to the skyscraper casually. I follow closely behind her.  
  
We get inside the building and the elevator door open automatically for us. "Greetings Chloe and Whitney, please stand by for a retinal scan." the elevator says and a blue light shines in our eyes. "Thank you," the elevator says. "Would you like to see Lex now."  
  
"That would be just swell," Chloe says. The guard who is with us looks as if Chloe's sarcasm were lethal.  
  
We walk into a room of inconceivable grandeur. Lex, as always, likes to display his wealth wherever and whenever he can. I don't know much about art but I recognize the treasures on the wall. Picasso's Guernica, Van Gogh's Starry Night The Mona Lisa. Works that used to belong to the world are now displayed for the edification of one man.  
  
"Hello, Chloe, hello Whitney," I hear a familiar, but aged, voice say. "I'm so glad you could make it."  
  
"Thank you," Chloe says, with a smile. I can tell she's trying to suppress a laugh.  
  
"Hello Whitney," I hear another voice say. It's the voice of Pete Ross and it's the voice of an Old, old man. I know that Pete is four years younger then Lex, but the years have been harder on Pete. He looks and sounds like a man holding onto life.  
  
"Hello, Pete." Chloe says.  
  
I hesitate, stunned at his appearance, and then echo Chloe's "Hello, Pete."  
  
"Well, I'm hungry, let's eat. We have a lot to discuss," Lex says.  
  
I'm placed at a candle lit table and I know that the food I'm being served is probably as fine as any food served at a four star restaurant. I put it into my mouth and cannot savor the taste. I eat it and try and hold down the feeling of nausea.  
  
"Pete, has some overall good news for us." Lex says his cheerfulness sounding real.  
  
"Yes," Pete says and coughs, " are profits will, this year alone, exceed four trillion dollars. There is no longer any effective opposition to our control of world industry and the last democratic stronghold, France has finally surrendered to our terms.  
  
"Yes," Lex says with a smile, "at least the French were the last holdouts this time. Kind of makes up for 80 years ago, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yeah," Pete says softly.  
  
"What about productivity?"  
  
"It's up in almost all sectors," Pete says.  
  
"Almost?" Lex says.  
  
"Well, California's not quite living up to projections, neither is our Moscow sector. But, we're working on that Lex, we have our best managers there now. We'll get it-"  
  
"Dispose of the least productive ten percent, that will make the others work harder" Lex says.  
  
"Lex," Pete says quickly, "We can get it under control, we-"  
  
"Pete, my decision's final."  
  
"Lex, really we-"  
  
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE PETE! WILL YOU SHUT UP!?!" Chloe screams. "Are you still fucking stupid enough to believe that you can reign him in?!" She says to him more softly.  
  
"I'm trying, Chloe." Pete says softly.  
  
"Yeah, I'll say you're trying as hell," She says and directs a look of pure hate towards Lex. "MURDER! That's the word you want to use. You want to murder the least productive ten percent. You dispose of a piece of paper, you dispose of a messy diaper. When you get rid of your employees you murder them. When you ordered the destruction of New York, Shanghai and Australia you murdered those people."  
  
"Well, Chloe you know that rebellion stems mostly from people losing their jobs. Liquidating the unproductive is necess-"  
  
"They rebelled because they don't have any other choice there are no other employers, there is no other method of feeding their families."  
  
"They should of thought of that before they made me fire them."  
  
"Thirty years ago, remember? You defied your father over less then two hundred jobs. You cut your operating budget rather then allow those employees to lose their jobs. Now you're willing to kill millions of people for not working to your impossible standards?"  
  
"I was naïve." Lex says.  
  
"You were a human being."  
  
"I'm going to punch you in the face," Lex announces and immediately attempts to do so. Chloe brings her arm up and Lex hits her there instead. I get up, wanting to do something, but not knowing what. "Lex!" I call out ineffectually.  
  
"Bastard," She says and holds her arm, tears beginning to stream down her face but maintaining the hateful glare.  
  
"I'm illustrating a point Chloe, that's why I announced what I intended to do. Despite what you may think, I'm not a sadist."  
  
"Fuck you," She spats. I sit trying to comprehend what is happening. Pete somehow is still attempting to eat. Trying to seem oblivious to this conversation. A man who's spent more then twenty years trying to either control or ignore Lex's extremes.  
  
"Right now there are literally millions of cells in your arm that were just killed by your decision to protect your head. Can you hear them screaming in pain and anguish as they die, Chloe? You could explain to them that you made the decision that the head is more important then the arm but they wouldn't understand. They only know that they're in pain and dying."  
  
"A human being is more important then some cells, Lex"  
  
"That's where you're wrong, Chloe. An unproductive human is much less important to all of humanity then a single cell is to the human body. A cell, unless it's a cancer cell, always has some purpose, some function to the rest of the body. A human does not necessarily serve some purpose for the rest of humanity. If this is the case that person, like a cancer cell, must be destroyed so that the rest of humanity can thrive."  
  
"And you get to make that decision?" Chloe says.  
  
"Of course I do, who else? For two hundred years now mankind has been like an unruly child. Playing around with this toy called science unable to discipline itself. We were destroying the space around us and destroying ourselves as a species. I simply brought some discipline to this flawed race."  
  
Chloe stares, hatred still there and then she affects a glad expression, "Oh, I's understands now Massah. I be your good nigger from now on."  
  
"Chloe, you're not enslaved, you live in a mansion worth 100s of millions, you have servants and the finest clothes."  
  
"Yeah, we be your house niggers, massah, everyone else be your field niggers, but we all be your niggers.. We be good nigger's from now on Massah. Don't whips me, Massah."  
  
"Oh, I've had enough of this," Lex says and concentrates for less then a second.  
  
Chloe screams and grabs her head for a second and then begins to fall to the floor. She clutches at me on the way down and then falls the rest of the way. She breathes in deeply for a moment in intense pain and then stops breathing altogether. 


	4. chapter 4

"I'm sorry, Whitney," Lex says to me.  
  
"You're sorry?" I say unable to believe what's happening.  
  
"Yes, you told me to kill her as soon as she came in, but you know what a soft spot I had for Chloe. I really thought I could convince her."  
  
I get down and try and give her CPR. "What are you doing Whitney?" Lex asks.  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing?"  
  
Lex smiles at me broadly. "You just slipped here from the past, didn't you? You have no idea what's going on, do you? Years ago I gave myself the ability to cause massive aneurisms in people at will. You can give her CPR all day, half her brain is destroyed."  
  
"Why, Lex?" I say.  
  
"She was the wife of my Vice president. I obviously couldn't have someone so insubordinate running around in such a high position."  
  
"How could I work for you? How can I help you?"  
  
"You do it eagerly and with an efficiency that sometimes chills even me. For years you attempted to fight me, you tried to use your ability to slip to stop me on hundreds of occasions until you saw the futility of it and realized that I was right.. But where I can move backwards and forwards in time at will, you require a surge of adrenaline to do it. Besides, even with that advantage you would never of been a match for me. I had too much of a head start with my fortune and, let's face it, my superior intelligence. But I gotta hand it to you Whitney, for years you did try. For years you were almost as much of a pain in the ass as Clark. Then I had the idea of framing you and killing Clark at the same time. I saw to it that your would be medicated while in prison so that you couldn't possibly slip. By the time you got out you saw the futility of trying to stop me."  
  
I was crying now, "You killed Clark, you killed Chloe."  
  
"I killed 100s of millions more then that, and it was all necessary, absolutely necessary." Lex said. "I wish you had my control, I wish I could have you slip 20 years forward with me. Soon I'll be able to use kryptonite to actually change behavior and thought processes. Soon there will be no crime, no drug addiction, no hunger. No laziness or sloth. I will build a utopia, Whitney and I owe it all to you."  
  
"Clark was you friend, Lana trusted you."  
  
"Clark was more then a friend, he was as close as a brother to me. I loved Clark."  
  
"So why?"  
  
"Clark came from a different planet a planet called Krypton, billions of miles away. The meteor rocks that accompanied him to earth are actually remnants from that planet. Meteor rocks when properly controlled are the reasons why we both mutated the ability to slip. You and I are the ONLY ones with that ability. I was able to use kryptonite and my ability to slip, to take over world industry, to build an unbeatable mutant army, to eradicate disease and suffering, to alter the neurological pathways of murderers and thieves.  
  
The meteor rocks, by being able to manipulate DNA, are truly the miracle of the past 2000 years and the ONLY thing that was preventing me from using them to tame this unruly planet was Clark Kent. He possessed incomprehensible power. When he became an adult he would be able to lift ocean liners, change the course of rivers. In short he would be a god amongst men.  
  
"Clark's an alien? A god? But I was able to make him the scarecrow? That makes no sense."  
  
"Yes, in your dumb luck you managed to tumble onto his weakness. The Kryptonie or meteor rock you put around his neck is the one substance that Clark was allergic to. I think that if I'd of arrived there a few hours later, to cut him down Clark would have been dead and you really would of killed him"  
  
"My God," I said.  
  
"Well, Clark was a god, with awesome powers. And what did he want to do with these awesome powers? He wanted to do three things," he says and starts listing them with his fingers, "Rescue kittens out of trees, help little old ladies cross the street, and stop me."  
  
Lex continues, "For twenty years he would smash every plan, until I became an inconsequential joke. And then finally, finally I learned how to slip and I was able to slip back to a time where I could kill him and not be a suspect. A time where I was still close to Clark, so that when I slipped back the police would see nothing but a distraught Lex. I'm sorry that my killing him had to include you, but you were an obstacle too, Whitney. And god, killing him was glorious." Lex said and closed his eyes, savoring the moment of his greatest triumph. "Everyone thought it was impossible, that he was too much of a god, but I did it. A mortal killed a god. I almost wish I was able to kill him later, when he would live to become a world figure, just so that the world would know who killed Superman. But it was necessary for him to die. Necessary for you to take the fall. Everyone believed you did it except Chloe. Somehow her instincts told her that you were telling the truth. I think that's why you married her. But that's in the past now."  
  
With that, Pete, who I'd forgotten about came to life. He took his limbs which had seemed so ancient a moment ago and jumped across the mahogany table. "YOU MONSTER!" he screamed and attacked Lex with his steak knife. Lex deftly moves out of the way and smashes Pete's nose with the palm of his hand.  
  
"Idiotic to attack a man who can slip Pete, what did you hope to accomplish?" Lex said.  
  
Pete is on the floor now, panting, looking defeated again. "Whitney, Whitney," he said, "Please,"  
  
"Oh, shut up, Pete," Lex says and twists his head till his neck breaks. Pete lay on the floor struggling for breath. "Oh sorry about the creamed corn plant," Lex says. My adrenaline is finally up enough to  
  
slip  
  
back  
  
to hear Lex say "Shut up Pete." He's about to murder Pete. And I attempt to tackle Lex but he's able to move out of the way anticipating the move. He tries to back hand me with his fist I see the punch coming knowing that I can not avoid it and  
  
slip  
  
back  
  
to the moment he throws the punch and I'm able to avoid it and throw one of my own which of course he's not there for. "We can do this all day Whitney, but it's kind o silly" Lex says and of course he's right. "If you like I'll keep Pete alive, it was a mercy killing, really."  
  
I stop, panting unused to this old body. Against all rationality I attempt to attack again but of course Lex knows this will happen and dodges me I can feel pain beyond excruciating in my head. I close my eyes tightly and I know that that Lex is doing to me what he did to Chloe and  
  
I  
  
slip  
  
back  
  
into Smallville Police station. I must be aware of the now and adapt to it. Now is Sheriff Ethan and an interrogation room . It is 2003 and I have just been arrested for murder. I was found covered in the victims blood, standing over them with a knife in my hand. I have motive, I have opportunity. I will be convicted beyond a reasonable doubt.  
  
"Listen," Ethan says, "I have sympathy for you, a jury will have sympathy for you but not if you keep lying, Whitney."  
  
"I'm not lying." I say. "Lex Luthor murdered Clark Kent and Lana Lang and framed me. I know how he did it and I know why he did it."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Ethan says.  
  
"I'll tell you," I say, "But you won't believe me." I sit and wonder how I should begin.  
  
After two hours I finish the story.  
  
"So let me get this straight," Ethan says. "You're saying that the meteor rocks, which will someday be called Kryptonite, have the power to cause genetic mutations in people and that you and Lex Luthor have developed the ability to send your psyches back and forth in time?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And that Lex Luthor will some day be the most brutal dictator the world has ever seen if he's not stopped?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And that the only person able to stop him is Clark Kent, who is an alien being with Super powers? And that Lex needs to kill him now while he's young because someday Clark will be too powerful for Lex to harm?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And that this future Lex sent his psyche back to the past, killed Clark and then went back to the future again so that the present Lex has no recollection of what he did and that Lex's present grief is actually real?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, shit, I'm convinced," Ethan says sarcastically.  
  
How many strange events and unexplained phenomena are taking place in Smallville?  
  
"So if you have this ability to slip, why don't you slip back right now so you're not there when I come walking through that door?"  
  
"I don't have control over it like that, I have to have my adrenaline at a high enough level.."  
  
"And last night, you say you slipped back to prevent Lex from killing Clark and Lana then? How did he get rid of the gun after you found him?"  
  
"Lex DOES have the ability to control his slip with pinpoint accuracy. He killed Clark and Pete, shot me and then slipped back an hour earlier to get rid of the guns."  
  
"So why not kill you?"  
  
"Because my ability to slip makes me damn near impossible to kill. I can be drugged, and rendered ineffectual and made to look like a crazy man. But my adrenaline before the time of death is always going to be high enough to allow me to slip back to a point in time where I can avoid it."  
  
"Wow, you got this all figured out."  
  
" Is it really so impossible to believe that Clark has powers that the meteor rocks are having an effect on people? Look what's been going on around here the past year."  
  
"Yes, it is very hard to believe," Ethan says, but is there a feint sign of belief? Or at least curiosity? I think I see it.  
  
Then the door opens and I hear the familiar voice of Lionel Luthor say, "You're right to not believe him, Sheriff. I've never heard such an absurd story in my life."  
  
"Mr. Luthor, this is a police matter and it does not concern you."  
  
"If he's accusing my son of murdering his best friend it absolutely concerns me."  
  
"I know you're a Luthor, and you feel you can do anything you want and go anywhere you want, but that's not the case sir I must ask you to leave."  
  
"Oh, but it IS the case," Lionel says with a smile and takes out a gun and shoots Ethan in the chest three times.  
  
"Holy jeez," I say and  
  
slip  
  
back  
  
to  
  
Ethan saying "I know you're a Luthor, and--"  
  
I get off my chair and tackle Lionel. "He's got a gun, he's going to shoot you." I say.  
  
Ethan takes out his own gun now and is breaking the two of us up. He deftly recuffs me and starts to search Lionel. He soon takes out his gun.  
  
"You're under arrest." He says disarming Lionel.  
  
Lionel looks at him with a bemused expression. "Really, on what charge? I have a license to carry this weapon."  
  
I look at him panting. "It's you," I say. "You're the one who tells him about the ability to slip. You're the one that encourages him to use it. You wanted to see if I really had the ability. You just tested me out. "  
  
"Luthor's are meant to rule" He says as if that is explanation enough.  
  
And it is explanation enough. I see it now. It is not adrenaline that makes me slip. It's want. I wanted to secure my personal bag and I slipped back to a time when I could secure it readily. I wanted to save my squad and myself and I slipped back to a time where I'd be able to do it. I wanted to find a way to save Clark and I slipped back to a time where I could do that. I wanted to know why Lex kills Clark and I slipped to a time where Lex was confident enough in his power to tell me. I wanted to know how Lex developed the ability and I slip back to the moment of discovery.  
  
It is want that powers the ability. It has to be a want that consumes you. That's why Lex is better at it then I am. Because he wants. Want, more then anything else, defines a Luthor. They want for power, they want for respect, they want to rule. They thirst, and there is no amount of liquid that can quench that thirst. No matter how great my desire to stop them, it will never compare to their desire to rule. I see it now, I see it so clearly.  
  
I close my eyes. "Oh God, let me end this." I think. "God, please, please, give me the strength to end this I want to end this let me end this. Please God."  
  
I open my eyes and I'm in the field. The weight of the helmet is on my head and there is a rifle in my hand.  
  
Taylor is complaining. What else is new. "If I have to walk through another goddamned rice patty," he says.  
  
Of course, I think. This is right. Clark must be given the time to mature and grow. Lex must never gain power over time, or even suspect that such a power exists. Part of me wishes I could say goodbye to my mother, to Lana, to Chloe. But mostly I want to say goodbye to Clark. To thank him for keeping humanity safe. To tell him that I know, and that I know his destiny is glorious beyond glorious. But I know that's wrong. This is right.  
  
We are the anonymous millions. We are not meant for drunken frat parties, for late night frenzied sex, wedding cakes, or wooden patios, or grilled burgers in our backyards, or office pools, or assembly lines . We are nor meant for children graduations, or retirement parties, or for holding hands and watching television or for bingo games.  
  
Stafford, Taylor, Brooks, and Fordman. We are the anonymous millions. Names to be etched on stone or placed on walls, and all the wishing and all the kryptonite in this world can not make it never was. Deep down, I knew it from the moment we survived that first attack. I knew it at the party, long before Lex murdered Clark and Lana. I knew that was wrong then, just as I know this is right now.  
  
I breathe in and for the first time in my life really feel the wonder of air filling me and savor the breath. I close my eyes and am filled with love. For the men and the women of the future and the past, for the fields for the oceans for the cities for the country for the molecules and the atoms of everything that makes up this glorious world.  
  
I open my eyes and am smiling.  
  
"What's with you Fordman?" Taylor asks.  
  
"I love you," I say, "I love all you guys."  
  
"Queer bastard," Taylor says.  
  
"No, no I do. I need for you guys to believe that, I need for you to know that." I say and wipe away moisture from my face, barely aware that they are tears.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, fine I believe that," Taylor says, and his words and inflection sound dismissive and sarcastic but I know that there is a part of him, a part of all of us, that wants to hear that, that needs to hear that from one person in their life that means it. I know there is a part of him that is grateful that I said it.  
  
"Thank you," I say still smiling and am not startled as I hear the first mortar hit. They start to run and scream pell-mell as all the other anonymous millions have broke and run. I stretch out my arms to invite the end. I must remain calm. I must not be distracted from this. This is right, I think. This is right.  
  
And the mortars rain. 


End file.
